“Like what?” Noah asked.
“I don’t know. Apologize? The adults are acting like this is about stocks and power, but I think it’s really aboutGrandma being hurt. She’s unhappy. She thinks Grandpa has been in love with Abby’s grandmother their entire lives, and her whole life was a lie. She needs to know he’s sorry and he loves her.”
“You think an apology from Grandpa would fix their whole relationship,” David said skeptically.
“Not like an ‘I’m sorry you feel hurt’ apology. A real apology. If he gets that he messed up and owns up to it.”
“A grand gesture,” Abby said.
I nodded. “Exactly.”
“But what if he doesn’t love her?” Everyone’s eyes swung to Miriam. She flushed. “What if she’s right, and Grandpa never loved her? Then she’d be right to be mad.”
“He can’t have stayed in love with Abby’s grandma forever,” Noah said softly. “He and Grandma built a life together.”
I nodded at Miri. “If he doesn’t love her, and they’re unhappy, maybe they shouldn’t be together,” I said. “But they shouldn’t not be together because of a lack of communication, because one of them was too proud or foolish or blind to mention how they felt. I think we need to give Grandpa a little guidance. We have to... create a moment for him, a moment where he can step up. And hopefully he’ll take it from there.”
“How do you create a moment?” Abby asked.
I looked out the window. The sun had set and turned the world blue. Tyler could recognize moments, and maybe I could,too. Maybe anyone could learn how to create possibility and hope if they wanted to.
My grandparents were as stubborn as I was, as likely to reject a moment as to lean into it, unwilling to get hurt. So we needed to create a moment they couldn’t reject. We had to get Grandpa to actually talk to Grandma, to not be stiff and locked down, but open and willing and talking.
Outside, I could see the moon—crisp and white and oblong—and a million stars beginning to shine in the early evening sky. Free light in the darkness, not oil controlled by people but the one thing we could always count on.
“It’s the last night of Hanukkah,” I said. “Aren’t we due a miracle?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“We’re pushing the play back,” Iris announced to the family over dinner. “We’re very sorry, but we need a few more days for it to be perfect.” She nodded solemnly to Uncle Arnold and the other Danzigers. “We’re sorry you’re going to miss it.”
He nodded back, equally as solemn. “I’m sure you’ll be wonderful.”
With Isaac leaving, Iris had reclaimed her role as General Holofernes, and I’d been demoted back to handmaiden so Lily could be Judith. Which, honestly, sounded perfect. Instead of the performance, we celebrated the last night of Hanukkah the way I had for most of my life, watching the candles flicker and burn, surrounded by family and food. A minor holiday but a beautiful one, with all my family in one place.
In the morning, we gathered to see the Danzigers off. No one seemed too distressed by their departure. The five-night visit had clearly been long enough for everyone. “You’ll keep in touch?” Great-Uncle Arnold asked.
Grandma gave him a wintry smile, which she then extended to the rest of us. “Yes. I certainly will.”
Then, not waiting for the Danzigers to depart, she turned on her heel and walked away.
I went over to Olivia’s house afterward. In her bedroom, a bubble of teal and pink, we watched a nonsensical Christmas princess movie, a plate of illicit cookies between us. (Food was not allowed in Olivia’s bedroom for fear of crumbs summoning mice.)
Honestly, watching an American girl bumble around a tiny fake country in the Alps because the media had mistaken her for the prince’s betrothed and he needed her to keep up the pretense was very soothing. A menorah even showed up at one point when the prince and the American girl attended a holiday fair. There were probably two Jews in the tiny fake country of Ellinnia, but I’m sure they appreciated it.
The movie required very little attention to keep up, so we chatted through most of the B story line.
“To be honest, I thought kissing would be more exciting,” I said. I’d texted her the main details yesterday—the rise and fallof Isaac Lehrer, in my heart at least—but now wanted to get to the good stuff.
“Exciting how?” She popped the rest of her snickerdoodle in her mouth and offered me another.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t expecting fireworks, but it felt very... manual.”
She giggled.
“Stop!” I said, but a few half giggles escaped me as well. “I’m serious. It felt... fine? But boring. Not very adventurous?”
“Harsh.”
